Where the Story Begins
by TwistedSky
Summary: Michael and Nikita spend their first real Christmas together.  Warning: Spoilers through 1x11, and this is a future fic. OH. And it's so fluffy it could kill you. Part of what I'm now referring to as my "Holidays with Mikita" series.


I disclaim, for forensicduck. Spoilers for 1x11.

XXXXXX

"Please don't look at me like that." Michael pleaded. "You know I have to work."

"It's three days before Christmas." Nikita pointed out. "It can wait." It was their first Christmas together as a "couple." It _meant_ something.

"You know how it is." Michael sighed.

"I do." And she did, but it didn't make things any easier.

Ever since Nikita had shown Michael the truth and helped him finally get justice and kill Kasim they'd been together, practically non-stop. They'd finally managed to take down Division, and now every day just felt almost ordinary, and they were together.

It had been almost an entire _year_ since they'd taken down Division. The best year of their lives.

And they were _together_, which was the most important thing either of them could possibly imagine.

It made a huge difference.

But life wasn't ordinary by "average" standards. They were both working for the CIA, actually doing the right thing instead of doing the wrong thing under the guise of rightness.

And now Michael had to leave right before their first Christmas together. "I'll be back before the 25th, I promise."

"Michael, _please_."

"I have to go," he said reluctantly. It wasn't as if he _wanted_ to go.

Nikita sighed. "I know," she said, resigned. "Hurry back."

Michael was obviously upset. He sat back down on their bed and stared into her eyes. "You'd do the same."

"True."

"And you'd hate me if I didn't go."

"You'd hate yourself," was all Nikita said in reply.

"I love you," Michael said, kissing her soundly.

Nikita sunk into the kiss that was all too brief._ I love yous_ never ceased being important and beautiful. "I love you too," she said softly. "Always."

"Always," he agreed. "No matter what."

"Come back to me."

Michael smiled before turning around to leave. "As if anything could stop me."

XXXX

Michael returned at the earliest possible time, and he really hadn't wanted to go in the first place, but the mission had been time sensitive.

He reflected on how perfect his life was now.

There'd once been a time when his life had been amazing before, but that was a lifetime ago. He couldn't, _wouldn't_ compare that time to now.

Because being with Nikita was _different._

While he'd loved his wife and daughter, they were gone. He couldn't have them back.

He hadn't been able to _feel_ anything but anger and pain before he'd met Nikita. She'd started him on the healing process, and when she'd helped him _finally_ kill Kasim, he'd felt himself let go of his old life.

While his wife and child would always be in his heart, now Nikita _was_ his heart.

She'd healed him, and he'd healed her. Life had gone from terrible to perfect so quickly it had been terrifying.

They hadn't even kissed when they'd teamed up, refusing to do anything until they'd taken Division down. But then they had, and the first thing they'd done was melt into each other.

And it had been so natural, so perfect, that their lives had just come together after that. They hadn't known anything except that they _needed_ each other.

Everything else had to work out after that, because Michael and Nikita . . . Nikita and Michael . . . they were so perfect the Universe couldn't help but comply.

So on an early, beautiful Christmas morning Michael walked through the door of his home with Nikita and was looking forward to slipping into bed with her.

But something felt off, strange.

_Wrong._

He carefully made his way into their bedroom and saw that the bed was a mess, and Nikita wasn't in it.

He heard a loud noise from their bathroom, so he walked as carefully and quietly towards the door and opened it suddenly.

He was shocked to see Nikita on the floor, obviously having just vomited. He leaned down next to her without a second thought, placing his hand on her forehead. "Are you sick? What happened? Poison, food issues, do I need to get you to a doctor—"

Nikita smiled, leaning onto his shoulder. "No."

"No to what?" Michael knew he seemed slightly frazzled, but he hated to see the love of his life sick. Obviously.

Nikita ignored him. "You're back."

"Yes, I am. If I'd known you were sick—" Michael felt a _pang_ in his heart. If something had happened to Nikita while he was away, he'd never have forgiven himself.

Nikita could practically feel the dangerous nature of his train of thought, so she quickly reassured him, "There was nothing you could do about it. Alex was over yesterday, and she would have stayed, but she didn't want to be with us during the holidays."

There was a moment of silence. Finally, Michael spoke, "We remind her of him."

"We do." Nikita sighed. "If only—"

"It just happened. Thom . . . he was a good man. But he's gone. She needs to move on. She'll heal."

"She will. But only when she finds the right person to draw her out of her pain."

"It's been a year."

"You know as well as I do how long pain can last. Deep wounds . . . don't always heal quickly, if at all." Nikita sighed at that.

Michael stroked Nikita's cheek with his thumb. "Are you feeling better?"

"For the most part, yes."

"Why don't you get cleaned up, and I'll meet you in bed with hot chocolate in fifteen minutes?"

"How do you know me so well?"

"I love you," he replied simply. "So I care to know what you like when you're sick, just for moments like this."

Nikita looked like she were about to say something, but Michael placed a single finger over her lips. "Later. I'll grab the munchies too, and we'll watch the Muppets' _A Christmas Carol."_

_"_Okay," she said simply. "Fifteen minutes."

XXXX

Exactly fourteen minutes and forty seven seconds later, Nikita was sitting in bed, ready to press play on the remote, and Michael bounded in with the promised snacks and hot chocolate. He handed it to her carefully. "Is it too hot?"

"It's perfect," she said after taking a sip.

She waited until he sat down. He pulled something out of his jacket pocket. He lifted it above his head. "Mistletoe. Kiss me?"

Nikita looked at him, eyebrow raised. She smiled and rolled her eyes before leaning in to kiss him.

Nikita leaned on his shoulder and Michael turned to her after she didn't turn on the movie. "Are we watching it, or not?" he asked teasingly.

"I'm pregnant."

Michael was suddenly incredibly glad that he'd set his hot chocolate down on the nightstand. Nikita sat up. "I was waiting to tell you, but I just—"

"We're going to have a baby?"

"Yes."

"A little child, made out of us?"

"Yes," she smiled at the odd description.

"Wow."

Nikita's smile disappeared. "Well, this doesn't bode well."

"What?" Michael asked in surprise.

"You're speechless. I'd expected more excitement."

"No, I am excited," Michael assured her, kissing her forehead softly before getting out of bed. He walked over to the closet, reaching into a box she hadn't even realized existed.

"It's just—" Michael was obviously a little flustered. "I wasn't going to do this until later." He knelt down in front of the bed. "Marry me?"

"Michael," his name on her lips was a beautiful moment. Her eyes were shining and a tear escaped the corner of her eye. "I thought we weren't going to—"

"Of course we were. You might not think we're the marrying types anymore . . . but I want to be with you in every way possible. I was just waiting for the perfect moment. Nikita, I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I want to have a baby with you, a little girl, or a little boy, because any child of ours is going to be _incredibly_ badass."

"Michael." His name was all she could say.

"You healed me. You are my savior, my best friend, the love of my life, and the mother of my future child. You're the reason I bother to get up in the morning, and the reason when I go to sleep at night that I don't have nightmares anymore. You are just there, with me. Always. And that means everything to me. And I want to spend my life loving you."

"Michael," she said again, tears beginning to fall freely. She wasn't an easy woman to make cry, but this . . . was _everything._

_"_Do you remember that night? The one you told me that no matter what happens I have you? The most terrifying part was that at that moment I _knew_ that you had _me._ It was terrifying. Because you were the only person that could have made me hesitate. You're the reason I'm alive, and you're the reason I _want_ to be alive."

"I love you," she whispered.

"Marry me Nikita." It wasn't even really a question anymore.

They were so _right_ together, it didn't need to be.

"Yes," the word slipped past her lips and left in its wake a smile broader than any that had ever been on her face before.

He slipped the ring onto her finger.

"It's beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you." It was sappy, but it was a sappy moment, and Michael couldn't help himself. "This didn't happen the way I wanted it to."

"It was perfect." Nikita gazed at her ring. "I love you."

Michael crawled into bed with her, and she leaned on him again, this time with the knowledge that he was going to be her husband.

The movie forgotten, they decided to just lay there, together.

His hand stroked her stomach. "There's going to be a person in there, and he or she is going to be . . . perfect."

"Just like her parents," Nikita smirked.

"True." He didn't retort sarcastically. "I love you so much it hurts sometimes."

"I know," she placed her hand over his heart. "But I'm always going to be here, for as long as I can be. And . . . I love you too. Always and forever."

"Always and forever," he repeated.


End file.
